


Wake Up, Boone

by colisahotnorthernmess



Category: Lost
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Established Relationship, Fairy Tale Retellings, Grief/Mourning, Kissing, M/M, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-05-31 20:32:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15127298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colisahotnorthernmess/pseuds/colisahotnorthernmess
Summary: A story based on the fairytale Sleeping Beauty, for grammar_glamour who requested ‘I prefer something angsty. I would also like slash, please. As for pairing... Boone/Locke would be best.’ at the 'lostvalentines' community ficswap, where you had to base your theme on a classic love story provided by the community.





	Wake Up, Boone

**Author's Note:**

> Old fic. Posted in 2006 to Livejournal.
> 
> Written for grammar_glamour at Livejournal for the 'lostvalentines' community ficswap.

Locke couldn’t take the pain any longer. Without him, he was _nothing_ , and he knew it. He couldn’t stay away from the man that he loved. And though he hoped Boone would understand, he had decided that it would be best to see his friend and to explain his reasons for taking off so quickly. Approaching the makeshift tent from its fourth side, a cutaway exposed to the jungle, he made his entrance. As he clambered through, drawing ever closer to the clearing, he realised that he would have to keep out of sight. He knew that he was treading _thin_ ice. And, being the man that he _was_ , having done what he had _done_ – leaving Boone behind – how could he show his face in this place? His presence was not welcome here. Instead, he squarely sat, a patient man, until all had settled.

From where he was sitting, he could barely make out what was happening. The onlookers were whispering, discussing what they would have to do - speaking and explaining to the other survivors. Sun and Jack, or at least he thought so, were talking the situation out from above. But he didn’t care about them. The doctor and his assistant could do nothing for him now. For with them being there, he couldn’t see. They obscured his view from he who he wanted to reach so badly.

"Boone," he mouthed, remaining silent. Glimpses of his battered body could be seen between the movements of the people, but nothing more. As he expected, it was not to be long before much of the commotion had calmed down and the shadowy figures in the tent were preparing to leave. He waited until they were well and truly out of the way before standing.

And then he saw him. He saw Boone, lying there on the stretcher they had brought out for him, a padded seat which had been salvaged from the wreckage of the plane. From the way that the chosen area had been sheltered and was secluded from the remainder of the beach, something was clearly _wrong_ with the situation. But Locke didn’t want to know. A thousand worse-case scenarios ran through his mind in the blink of an eyelid, flashing images of both the positive and the negative from one to the next. And though it could have been any one of them, he feared for the worst. And, as for the condition in which he had left Boone, he prayed that the situation would have improved by now.

He remained still. A tear was welling in the corner of his eye and began to form at the crease as he stared at Boone regretfully. He knew that there was something not quite right but he just couldn’t put his finger on it. He couldn’t, or perhaps he just _refused_ to comprehend why the young man may no longer be moving. Peaceful would be a word that he would have rather chosen to describe his state as he just lied there. Seeing him there, sleeping as he often did, he was reminded of earlier, happier times. His thoughts went back to yesterday morning, the very eve of all of this. His thoughts went back to an equally similar scenario, where all was needed to wake his lover was just one solitary kiss.

  
_Delusional_  
I believe I can cure it all for you, dear  
Coax or trick or drive or  
Drag the demons from you  
Make it right for you sleeping beauty  
Truly thought  
I can magically heal you

_You're far beyond a visible sign of your awakening  
Failing miserably to rescue_

  
He remembered his actions, the memories flooding back to every unfilled corner of his head. It seemed strange how every last detail of daybreak now became relevant to him, regardless of how insignificant, as he ran through the morning in his mind. Nobody could see them from where they were at the time – the two men had set up their camp away from everybody else, as to be able to slip out into the jungle unnoticed whenever they pleased. It reassured Locke to know that no-one would be able to interrupt the relationship he had with Boone out here, especially not Shannon.

Retrieving a small bundle of clothes from beside the makeshift bed, he clung onto the garments, breathing deeply into the scents within. Such a mixture of stale sweat and odours may put off many men, but not John Locke. He embraced them like he embraced the island and all of the nature around him. He greatly admired the shirt that his partner wore whilst hunting, even to the point of it being one of his favourites.

As well as being practical, stylish and yet plain – everything that a good shirt should be, he thought – it was the very way in which Boone wore it that made it so special to him. The contours of his body clearly visible through it, his ample muscles protruded nicely from it, and all of which was capped of with a smart red piping of the sleeve and collar. Four playing cards too, on the motif, one ace for every suite. Emblazoned across the front, the striking shades of crimson diamonds and jet black spades were symbolic of the games they played together. And who knew that John enjoyed playing games better than _Boone_ did?

Holding the item of clothing up to the light, the hunter smiled as a dulled circle of light broke through the fabric and met with his gaze. It only took him back to the good times, a constant reminder of his days out in the jungle hunting with _that_ man. Out here in this game, his favourite game, Boone was his very own king of hearts.

Treading across this particular stretch of the beach where their own camp was, he made his way over to his lover’s bed, where he was still sleeping. That boy looked like an angel in this surround, so fragile and out of place as he slept. The article of clothing still tucked underneath his arm, John quietly crept over to crouch beside him.

"Wake up, Boone," he gently whispered, placing a comforting hand onto his bare shoulder. He looked down at the other man, as to shield his eyes from the morning light. Without the grey shirt, which currently lied in Locke’s hands, the young man slept in only his jeans. He rolled over a little, allowing his toned torso to shimmer in the sun, tempting his partner to join him. And _what_ a temptation that was – to be close to Boone - to run hands over that torso, over those hips, across that body.

But, resisting the urge, the older man leaned in to place one and only one soft kiss on the skin of his chest, toughened and dried out by a night in this terrain. Now so close, the younger man could now feel Locke's hot and humid breath, cooling and condensing as it made contact with his dry skin. It made him quiver, shake, or tremble even, to think of his very closeness to the one man who would always have him on a knife edge in this place. And though quite clearly excited, he decided to remain at rest and keep his eyes closed. Because when it came to Locke, Carlyle always had to be such a tease - even in the most _trying_ of situations out here on the island.

Boone was only _pretending_ to be asleep, as he eagerly anticipated to what lengths his partner may just go to in order to wake him. He was awake and had been for a good long while.

"Morning, sleepy head," the bald man said again, smiling sweetly as he watched his lover toss himself over on his own camp bed and turn to face him. A smile so _strong_ that Boone could feel it – he could _feel_ it in the gentle words spoken, he could _feel_ it in the warmth of his voice and in the tenderness of his touch. There was so much to be said for that smile and so many notions playing behind it that the only trouble _was_ \- you never knew which side of John Locke you would be facing in the morning. He might have been the hunter you expected him to be or, still, and better still, he might have been the lover that you knew you wanted him to be.

Even with eyes closed, Carlyle could see that man smiling at him if nothing else. He had no problem visualising his friend's features from memory but was lost when it came to attributing words to them; only such strong _feelings_ came to mind when thinking of that face, feelings of his love and admiration, and of why being stranded here on this island wasn’t such a problem after _all_. And though the smile itself was indescribable, how it made Boone _feel_ was an entirely different matter. He traced a circle on his stomach, a shape around where he had been kissed, dreaming of John. "Boone," he heard his name called once more.

  
_Sleeping Beauty_  
Drunk on ego  
Truly thought I could make it right  
If I kissed you one more time to  
Help you face the nightmare  
But you're far too poisoned for me  
Such a fool to think that I can wake you from your slumber  
That I could actually heal you…

  
His hand still firmly resting on Boone's shoulder, Locke turned to sit down on the camp bed, settling on the very edge of the bunk and beside his partner. Leaning in once again, instead of kissing his partner on the stomach, he aimed for higher territory, now meeting gently with his lips. Their mouths pressing together for more than a minute, he used his time to now draw his friend into most tender of caresses. Holding him tightly towards the warmth of his own body as he kissed, he placed him back onto the camp bed with an equally soft touch. Boone smiled at being reacquainted with the cushioned surface, barely escaping his partner’s grasp. He ran a wet tongue over his lips, savouring the taste of the morning kiss that they had just shared and the many morning kisses that had gone before it.

Still grinning, the hunter traced the hollows of the dark haired man’s neck with just one finger, attempting to awaken him from his state of sleep.

"That tickles," the younger man beamed back at him, his eyelids still closed. That seemed to be all the more _reason_ for doing it, Locke thought - as he was _far_ from giving up. Boone squealed and let out a laugh muffled by the pillow beneath him. "Stop it," he cried, jokingly. He jerked once again, a half smile playing on his face, "Please, John…"

Fingering a loose curl between his nimble digits, the bald man could do nothing but smile as he watched his lover from above. Both men were now left giggling as they sat there together on the camp bed, away from the rest of the survivors. "I knew you were awake," the reply soon came.

Locke gave a nod of acknowledgement to his friend, watching as he sprawled there so unruffled out of sleep. Opening his bleary eyes, Carlyle was fully awakened to his surroundings, which were a sight to behold – the sight of a flame-red sun rising from behind the hills, making honey-coated ripples as it swept across the land from east to west – making them appear on the fresh seawater as the waves crashed into the shore. It was all so effortless, he thought. Even the golden sands of Sydney couldn’t match this place in terms of its beauty. He cast his eyes from the beach to the far side of the island, taking in every inch of this breathtaking view. And, in spite of all what had happened, Boone sighed, knowing that somewhere in all of this twisted madness he somehow belonged here.

With Locke, he knew that he was a fundamental part of the design – he became a _part_ of all of this - uncertainty wasn’t, and would _never_ be an option from now on. Everything he did with that man was bound to be yet another adventure beyond his wildest dreams, out there in the jungle, either making headway or making love. And, whichever way, he was making a difference, and that was all that mattered to him.

"What are we doing today, John?" he asked, grinning mischievously at the very thought of what the answer might be. As interested as he was in what animals they may be hunting and what mysteries may be unravelled during the course of the day, he was far keener on what they would be doing _together_ , right now. But, it appeared, from the expression of deep thought that was etched onto his partner’s face, that he had not figured the pun.

Boone cleared his throat and rephrased the question. "What…" he paused, teasingly tugging at the other man’s shirt, "...are you going to be doing to me today?"

Regardless of this, the great white hunter still did not budge. And there he sat, for many minutes, contemplating what he was to do, and now ignoring the other man completely. The younger man pinched the dirty material between his forefinger and thumb and pulled John's t-shirt sleeve, which still remained strangely sodden with sweat from during the night. It had been such a cool night in the jungle that Boone did wonder what could have gotten him so hot and bothered. And why Locke slept in full dress, with such a body as he had, was a mystery to him. Whether it was because of the former-paralysis or a lack of physical confidence, he did not know, though he still did wonder. There was so _much_ to wonder about this mysterious man. Though, the sweat had now grown cold and the shirt material surprising to Boone’s touch.

"Where are we…" he found himself interrupted and cut short by the other man. Hushing his lover gently, the older man stood astride him and wrapped his legs around his torso, effectively climbing on top of him.

"We aren’t going anywhere," he smirked, "At least not yet, anyway." He grinned, shuffling until he was comfortable in sitting across his lap. Unable to resist the temptation any longer, he ran both of his hands along that trembling torso; across that body. His chilled fingers caused Boone to shudder at such contact – though not a frightened shudder – the young man was far beyond that. No, this was along the lines of being ecstasy; a _pleasured_ shudder or tremble. He and Locke shared the sort of love he had never known before or never felt before. And though he was twice his age, who was to care? Without Shannon, this was _his_ decision and the best decision he had ever made. The love that he shared with _him_ was nothing like what he had known with _her_.

Lying back on the camp bed, he felt his eyes starting to close as he relaxed, with nothing but his own senses to guide him. He could feel his lover's hands merely touching him, cool fingers running over his now fevered flesh. A soft moan escaped his lips as Locke continued to massage his muscular frame.

"I like that," he whispered. And he knew that was the truth. Seeing the instant reaction from only laying hands on the upper half of his body, the hunter decided that he would take it just one step further. Slipping his partner’s denims down by a notch, he carefully revealed his hipbones. His hands were cold and coarse, but at the same time warmed the very essence of the soul. He forced his hands down the sides of Boone's jeans and, as slowly and sensually as he knew how, brought them around the backs of his thighs to rest firmly underneath his buttocks.

"I know that you do," he smiled as he gazed into his lover’s eyes. There was such a mutual understanding between the two of them that sometimes they forgot to speak and, even when they did, it was of few words. But what Boone was soon to say would even astonish John Locke, as it was almost as if he _knew_ what was going to happen, especially after seeing the vision which had haunted his dreams that very night.

It was as if something was _warning_ him about the plane that he’d seen in the jungle. And though seeming happy, the younger man now appeared confused. "You’ll look after me, won’t you John?" he interrupted him to say. "Out here," he added, "In the jungle?"

The hunter immediately looked upwards, obviously taken by surprise. Answering the question, he blankly stared, "Yes, I will…" Knowing fear when he saw it, he put a halt to his wandering hands and kept his partner steady at the hips with reassurance. He wanted to show him that there was so much _more_ to life and so much more to living, if only you were given the chance. Shannon had silenced him but had not left him mute without end. She had only left him incapable of making his _own_ decisions in life but, out here, Locke wouldn’t let her. He was in _his_ hands, now. But then he remembered what had happened that morning – he remembered how he’d said he’d protect Boone no matter what. And, with that, he thought that he actually would be able to keep the promise that he had made…

  
_Sleeping Beauty_  
Poisoned and hopeless  
You're far beyond a visible sign of your awakening  
Failing miserably to find a way to comfort you

_Far beyond a visible sign of your awakening  
And hiding from some poisoned memory_

  
But the reality was sadly, all too different. The hunter lowered his head, pausing for a moment to take in all what was in front of him. He could hear the distinct sound of a dripping, the fluid softened by sand as it steadily dribbled. A sort of pitter-patter, pitter-patter type noise, he thought. With his wizened eyes now gradually coming into focus, he saw the flood of red water trickling from the edge of the bed, contrasting starkly with the clinical blue stretcher from which it dripped. It was blood, seeping out from underneath his lover. Averting his eyes from such a sight, he soon realised that there was far more to be concerned about. There Boone was, not sleeping _peacefully_ as he had once hoped but, instead, entirely motionless and limply lying out on the stretcher. Bloodied and bruised, the accident had torn through him, breaking his body from head to toe. He was barely the same person anymore. And it was John's fault entirely - something which the older man _knew_ to be true.

The dark haired man’s shirt was stained as well and was splattered with such large specks of dried blood that it obscured the motif that Locke knew and loved so well. The games they had played and the times they had shared were now gone. Hearts and diamonds of crimson which once stood out so boldly had now vanished in a sea of red. Where once was a lively and beautiful human being, there was now nothing and no-one, as there would never be again.

"Wake up, Boone," he uttered, whilst attempting to revive the younger man. Tenderly stroking his cheek with only one finger at first, he made sure to avoid any of the countless facial lesions which the young man still bore from the accident, as he gradually went on to wrap a further three fingers around his face. Not only would it be unwise to risk infecting his injuries, but he also didn’t want to remind himself of what had been his fault. He held him there, firmly keeping his face upright and in that position.

"Wake up," he raised his voice, but only slightly, as not to attract any unwanted attention from the other survivors. The hunter leaned in towards his partner and placed a delicate kiss upon his lips, in any last hope of awakening him. His skin appeared bleached, whitened almost – and, now, instead of being hardened by the strength of the sun, was now much softer and cooler. He looked so delicate, like a China doll, small and frail. And upon leaving his cold lips, the realisation finally came to Locke that Boone was no longer alive. The worst part of all of this had found him.

His lover now expired in his arms, he found himself beginning to cry. "No," he uttered, a bitter residue on his tongue. He held him close, praying that he could breathe life back into his lifeless corpse. "This can’t be happening to me," he screamed, louder than before, with no concern for who may be nearby - because he didn’t _care_ whether they could hear him or not.

The one person here who understood him and loved him for who he was, was now gone. Locke wished he could have been the one to take the pain away and set Boone free from the anguish he'd suffered prior to being stranded on the island. Knowing now that he had failed, he still wished that he could take back what had happened _here_. Having seen the outcome in his vision, he knew he should have gone to greater lengths to ensure his partner’s safety. The blood imprinted itself on his shirt as he held the younger man so tightly, leaving its mark and an ever-lasting reminder of what he had done. Why couldn’t he have _saved_ him? Would it have been too much for him? Now, he was alone and here to face all of this by himself. All he knew was that in this game – this game of the island, the game of life or death, this ongoing game – John Locke had lost his lover and his favourite playing piece. Boone was now _dead_.

 

_Poisoned and hopeless  
Sleeping Beauty_

_– lyrics taken from Sleeping Beauty – by A Perfect Circle_


End file.
